~ The lofty side of this is that I am a mom on a mission. I am striving to create a better world by being the best, most inner-directed mother I know how to be. The other side of this is that I became a mom… on purpose. Meaning, I chose this. But man, it can be hard.

Category Archives: Pet lover

The other day, old memories bowled me over like a tidal wave when we had a family evening at one of our favourite places, Lawrencetown Beach. While my senses were filled with the pounding waves and bright evening sun, I was not expecting the intense emotions that the visit brought.

As Audra and I walked down the beach, I was immediately brought back to a memory of being in that same place seven years earlier: 2008. Our lives were different. We lived in Ontario and our kids were still little – 3 & 5 years old. I vividly recall that trip 7 years ago, when my heart longed to live in Nova Scotia, but yet our roots seemed to be going deeper into Ontario soil every passing year.

“Hey! Take a picture of me doing a handstand here!” I suggested remembering that in 2008, Dean took a picture of me in a handstand at Lawrencetown Beach, which then became a visual reminder to me of where I intended for us to live one day.

Knowing that I had posted it on Facebook way-back-when, I checked out the album, only to have time hit me hard.

It seemed that I was the only one who hadn’t changed. (much…)

Lawrencetown 2008

Lawrencetown 2015

When I saw the pictures of our kids on that trip – so little and sweet, so dependent and full of childlike awe at everything – my mommy-heart mourned a little. Time is passing too fast. Where did seven years go? How fast will these next ones pass?!

Ethan and Audra Ages 5 & 3

Ethan and Audra Ages 12 & 10

And then, while my heart was already mourning, I came upon this one from Lawrencetown in 2008:

Casey was never happier than when in the water – and she loved the ocean!

This particular memory was more poignant than I was ready for, as it had only been 2 weeks since we had faced the difficult decision to finally say our last goodbyes to our beloved dog. In Casey’s last days, she was so slow that walks around our yard had become slow and halting – the true definition of pain-staking. But what I truly mourned was what she was like in this memory – full of energy, life and joy.

Rocks we painted for when we bury Casey’s ashes

I had a good cry at Lawrencetown Beach last week (something I am quite certain I didn’t do at any other time there!) But yet it was glorious. As I breathed in the ocean air with the sound of waves crashing in my ears, I wondered at the mystery of time.

How can seven years feel simultaneously like yesterday and a lifetime ago? How can it be that in such a short time so much can change? Kids grow up, people grow older, people (and dogs) leave our lives forever. (I still hold true that if I had my choice of super-powers, I’d like to fly, and the ability to occasionally freeze time.)

I can’t ignore the sadness that still comes (about both of these trains of thought). I can only focus on the two things I know to do:

1 – Be grateful for what I have, and the memories I’ve garnered along the way;

2 – Be as present in the moment as I can be. After all, this moment RIGHT NOW is the only one I have any power over.

I can’t afford to let my life pass me by. It’s easy to get busy, be distracted, or to numb out. But I don’t want to miss out, even when memories hit me with such ferocity of emotion.

The funny thing about time is that one day – relatively soon – I’ll look back at these pictures of 2015 and feel like today was an eon in the past.

The second time was a few mornings ago. To put it in perspective, a 15 year old lab is like a 100 year old human. We know she is winding down, and I will readily admit that I get anxious over losing her. To know that there is heart break coming our way isn’t a pleasant feeling, but it is a reality when you love an old dog.

Casey and Dean travelling from ON to NS

Months back, I had accepted that there was probably a 50/50 chance of Casey still being around to move across the country with us. And as the moving date approached, I was nervous about how she would do with the 2000 km drive. But she was a trooper and travelled like a champ, while I took great pleasure in knowing that she would end her days on Nova Scotia soil.

Ethan walking Casey along the Hubbards waterfront

I relished our slow morning walks along the oceanside road in Hubbards where we stayed for our first month. I enjoyed the fall days walking her around the beautiful gardens in our new back yard. (The irony did not escape us that we finally have acres to romp in, but with a dog who no longer romps).

Through it all, however, we watched her slow decline. Yes, she still eats with gusto, and loves to snoop outside, but her walks have gotten shorter – especially this past month since the snow arrived. She slips and falls more often. It takes a lot of effort for her to get up from lying down, and she rarely greets anyone with so much as a tail wag. Actually, she rarely notices if people arrive at all, and often snores her way through visits in deaf oblivion.

I find myself wondering “Will I know when her time is up?” and “Is she suffering in ways that I can’t tell?” I hope that when it happens it won’t be with any decision-making on my part, and that she passes quietly in her sleep. (And selfishly, that I am not alone when she is discovered).

Casey smells – that’s one thing about owning a dog that I won’t miss. For the past year she has been known to poop randomly in the house, occasionally in her sleep, and sometimes – infuriatingly – in the house immediately upon coming in from a walk. In the past few months, she’s even started peeing in the house. Our window of time for her to hold her bladder has gone from all day (if needed) to 4 hours. And there were some days last week that she even peed in the house when I was right there to let her out. We now need to arrange dog-walkers if we will be out all day – or to arrange our days to include pit-stops at home in the midst of our travels. The irony isn’t lost on me that as our kids’ dependancy on us (and bathroom / clean up roles) have decreased and given us more freedom – we’ve become tied down by taking care of Casey.

Dean has taken the past-midnight-shift to let her out, while I’m up by 6am to start the day with her. Every morning now I walk down the stairs wondering if she will have made it through without peeing everywhere. My morning routine of Amy-time has become one of mopping, walking, and cleaning. I have a mini-celebration every day I come down to a clean floor. But we’ve chalked it up to life with an old dog. We see the signs of her decline, but also still see her healthy appetite and easy-going personality. We haven’t seen signs of her being about to go, and we haven’t been ready to consider when that might be.

Until this week.

Thursday morning I came down and did a happy-dance that there was no mess to clean up. I quickly strapped Casey’s leash on to head outside for a walk. But she was extra slow in getting up – and then proceeded to pee immediately upon standing. As I watched in sleepy confusion, she trembled and peed, then fell and began shaking on the floor, with little stones all through the mess.

Kidney stones?! My dog just peed out over a dozen kidney stones?! I know what kind of pain that causes in humans, and I felt nauseous. I helped her to her feet and got her outside – where she stumbled and fell several times, in obvious pain. Once back inside, she laid back down rather than going to her food, while I cleaned up the mess and wondered what to do.

With my stomach in knots, and an ache in my heart, I got the kids ready for school. I tried to hide my concern from them, but nothing passes Audra’s observant eyes. I tried not to cry, but didn’t do so well keeping it together while I explained, yet again, about Casey being an old dog who wouldn’t be with us for too much longer. I didn’t hide from them the fact that she had passed kidney stones and was in pain.

But I did hide from them my deep-seated fear that this was it. As they went out the door, Dean came downstairs to be surprised by my flying, tearful hug as I gulped out my dreaded fear that this might be Casey’s last day.

Audra’s early morning cuddles with Casey this week

Having a beloved pet brings with it a level of love that is not explainable with words. Casey was our first baby, and has been with us through almost our entire lives together as a couple. She has travelled across Canada with us. She ran circles around us as we hiked up the mountain in Kananaskis where we got engaged. She has lived with us in 2 different apartments and 2 different houses in Ontario, before moving to Nova Scotia this past year. She was there at the births of both of our children (literally, as we had them born at home), and I will forever remember her calm presence and how it helped me cope when I was in labour with Ethan. She was Audra’s source of comfort even as a toddler, when she would cuddle in to Casey whenever she was frustrated about anything. She has been the most athletic, gentle and loving dog we could ever ask for. I don’t doubt that I will feel a huge void in my life when she goes.

But getting back to our story – Casey is still here with us a few days later. It wasn’t quite her time to go – but I know it is coming soon.

When we had her at the vet, they agreed that she likely had a matter of months left, and supported our plan to keep her comfortable and with some quality of life for the remainder of her days. They pointed out how rare it was for a 15-year-old lab to be medication-free (unfortunately, most dogs are like the majority of people in their 90’s who are often on multiple medications). They pointed out the signs of what was good with her still – a great-sounding heart, a curious personality, a healthy appetite and healthy stools – as well as what was not so good: namely that she was in a lot of pain due to a raging bladder infection and her deteriorating hips.

We readily agreed to a medicated solution for her. While our personal approach to health for ourselves and our dog has always been ‘natural first’ – in this case, we knew that medications were the best and fastest way to help Casey regain some quality of life. We happily paid for a course of antibiotics and pain medications, content that there was something yet to be done.

Her response to the medications was almost immediate, with her bladder control seeming to improve overnight, while she moved with greater ease by the next day. She is even a little less smelly due to the medicated shampoo we got to help with her allergies and skin.

We are happy to see signs of her greater comfort and mobility (as well as no messes to clean up in the house). However, while I am relieved that this wasn’t quite ‘it’ – I know her days are growing shorter. I am both grateful and a little heart-achy when I look at her. I still hope to one day find that she has passed quietly into her forever-sleep. We have discussed this with our kids and they have plans for how they want to bury her and remember her. Dean and I agree that we may never get another dog once she goes. Who could replace Casey? No other dog on earth in our minds.

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This weekend was only the second of the summer – but after a busy past weekend at our friends’ cottage – followed by the start of the kids’ farm camp and our summer routine, it was lovely to have a quiet weekend at home. I think it was exactly what we all needed.

Dean chuckled at me when I looked at him earlier this evening and simply stated: “I liked today.” There was nothing remarkable about today, but it was a very good one in my books.

In the spirit of ‘quirky little things’, and enjoying the simple moments of life, some of the little moments from today included:

A breakfast on the gazebo as it rained around us. Bacon, eggs, raspberries and watermelon in our lush back yard, spotting frogs as we ate and listening to the gentle thrum of rain drops on the canvas roof overhead. Peaceful and simple.

A feeling of accomplishment as I folded a half dozen loads of laundry – envisioning how easy it will be to pack for our upcoming trip into the Algonquin outback when I have all the clothes laid out in front of me (one benefit from leaving laundry to the last possible minute – at least this way everything was dirty – now clean – to chose from).

An enjoyable (although not frugal) trip to Mountain Equipment Co-op to restock for our 4 day trip. Leaving with more camping supplies, dehydrated meals to try (shepherds pie and bacon cheddar mashed potatoes – opinion is yet pending…!), much-needed clothes for Dean, and a new back pack for Audra. (After all, if she has to lug all of her own gear as we portage, at least it will be in a pack of her choosing. Somehow this makes all the difference with her – and whatever keeps her from complaining while we canoe, portage and camp works for me!)

Another pleasant dinner on the gazebo – not raining this time, but close to it – enjoying marinated steak, caesar salad, and tomato and goat cheese salad. And a glass (or 2) of wine. Interesting conversations led by the kids about topics such as: ‘Why isn’t there one world government?’ ‘What is the Lord of the flies about?’ and ‘When can we download my new mods on Minecraft.’ (as Ethan is inventing an elaborate world full of roller coasters and has spent many a moment imagining his new ‘world’.)

Listening to the kids play together lots – sometimes a little too loud for my in-house preference – but with most of it being great belly laughs, how could I complain? With Ethan finishing his latest fantasy novel, and Audra playing happily with her stuffies – the house was quiet and peaceful for much of the day. Following dinner, I relaxed by myself on the gazebo to finish my wine, read a few pages from my book, and enjoy the backyard – only to be laughingly led inside by Audra to ‘see what she did to Ethan’.

Finishing our family day by taking our dog Casey for a walk (at a very slow pace these days, her walks can best be described as leisurely strolls). After all, as a member of our family, we felt she should also benefit from some outdoor time with our whole crew after enjoying a few bites of steak. (although we have a ‘no feeding from the table’ rule, sometimes her smiling doggie face weakens our resolve.)

Amongst Audra’s many names for me today (Shanike, Shanille, and the ages-old Molly), and hugs from Ethan, it was indeed a simple but perfectly lovely day. One that perhaps I would never have appreciated at another stage in my life.

Really?! A day doing house-stuff, eating dinners, and shopping?! Lovely?! But it was.

A day spent with my most loved ones. After all, that’s what it’s all about.

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Today I took my dog for a walk, 10 minutes in the woods that were akin to striking something off of my bucket list as a dog-owner. Simply because a few short weeks ago, our dog, Casey, was unable to stand and couldn’t walk.

On Thanksgiving weekend, she was unable to move, with her hind legs being nearly paralyzed. We had to move her position on her bed, carry her outside to go to the washroom, and hand-feed her. She was entirely unable to stand, walk, sit or shift position. Any attempts she made were heartbreaking in their futility. Both Dean and I were in a state of helplessness and grief, not knowing what brought this on, nor what it meant. All of the sudden, we were faced with a situation with our beloved 12-year-old lab where realistically, if her body was not capable of healing from this to the level of her being able to stand or walk again, we would have to consider that saddest-of-options of saying goodbye to our wonderful dog. In recent months, this is a topic that I have had great anxiety over, not to mention a few tears.

There is a part of me that feels it is wrong to have the authority to end an animal’s life, but yet another that wishes everyone I love to live life with happiness and quality of life – and that applies to my dog, too.

She was, after all, our “first baby”. She was the first test we had with respect to what types of choices we would make for our future family. And here we were, with a lame dog who was suffering. I have no doubt that a part of my angst was my own sense of guilt that I could have done more somehow. Maybe more walks, or more attention, an extra t-bone to chew on. I even felt guilt for having a house with stairs, and a fenced yard instead of acres of land in my own back yard for her to explore.

On Thanksgiving night, I carried her out to the back yard, in the hopes that she would go to the bathroom. And when she collapsed on the grass, I simply squatted beside her in the dark, patted her, cried, and made my peace. I let go of my own guilt, tearfully acknowledging that I have loved her so well – and let go of trying to force anything. I let go of the outcome, and went back to the basics. And the basics were the same, as always: give her body what it needs to heal, including some time. And surrender to the process.

We placed visits to the vet (and opted for temporary pain medications, which did help a bit, as she later pushed herself to standing – just the once, followed a few hours later by hobbling around the yard a little, with tentative weight on her right foot) This was followed by a visit to an animal chiropractor. I had to carry her into the office, but after that first adjustment, she walked out. Not perfectly, and it was evident that she wouldn’t be able to walk more than a few steps at a time. But she walked. The ability was still there. We simply had to turn on the power, and let her body heal.

Up until this point, I was preparing myself for an inevitable goodbye. I was adamant that I would not watch her suffer if the only benefit to her being alive was to avoid the grief and pain I would feel. For the first two days after she became lame, random images of our life with her popped into my mind, interspersed with images of what life would be like without her. I thought of her as a puppy, curled around my pillow and head while I slept. I thought of her calm, brown eyes that helped me through the toughest of contractions when I was giving birth to our children. I thought of her love of snooping through the woods on our many hikes. I thought of her swimming incessantly at the cottage. And I thought of how much we take for granted her constant presence of love in our home. And while I could see some benefits to a household without a dog (like never finding dog hair in my food, not having to sweep every day, never wondering if our house smells like a dog, or having to buy a car that can accommodate a lab…) overall, the thought left me empty inside.

But from that first little walk out of the chiropractor’s office, I was filled with hope. I could see a future that might hold Casey for at least a little while longer. I have a new-found love and appreciation for my dog. And a gratitude for a philosophy that makes so much sense, every time, even for dogs: give our bodies what they need to function and heal, and trust that the wisdom in our bodies will take care of the rest.

I feel that now I have taken a step closer to accepting the inevitability of our dog’s passing, just hopefully not too soon. In the meantime, I am awakened to the multitude of ways in which this philosophy for LIVING permeates our life, providing a foundation for us. I am awakened to the opportunity this has given me to be more fully present to how much love and joy Casey brings into our lives, and the chance that I may have to ensure her remaining days are lived the way they are intended to be: to the fullest.

So today’s ten minutes in the woods was a “bucket list” moment for me as a loving dog owner. Next step: I’m taking her swimming!

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The lofty side of this is that I am a mom on a mission. I am striving to create a better world by being the best, most inner-directed mother I know how to be. The other side of this is that I became a mom.... on purpose. Meaning, I chose this. But man, it can be hard.

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The lofty side of this is that I am a mom on a mission. I am striving to create a better world by being the best, most inner-directed mother I know how to be. The other side of this is that I became a mom... on purpose. Meaning, I chose this. But man, it can be hard.